I move toward a black Lamborghini, the Aventador I used to dream about when I was sixteen and pissed off at the world.I used to keep a poster of it on the bedroom wall in one of my foster homes.Right next to the knife I hid in the vent.
This car is real.More than real.It swallows light like a black hole.
A few feet away sits a Jesko, blood red and just as slick.I want to touch them all.
“These aren’t just exotic cars,” I murmur.“They’re gods.”
“Soulless ones.”Wolf ambles past them without reverence.
“You don’t approve?”
“I prefer riding,” he says.“Not posing.”
He turns, gesturing for me to follow.We slip between the giants until we reach the back of the garage, where the air feels a little colder.That’s when I see it.
A motorcycle.
Not a showpiece.Not one of those custom chrome monstrosities meant to sit on velvet.
This thing’s all muscle and grit, matte black with silver accents, built low to the ground, its design stripped down and unforgiving.A beast with two wheels and no leash.
“That’s yours?”I raise my brows.
“Yep.”He holds up his keys.“Want to see what this island looks like at ninety miles per hour?”
I hesitate.Not because I’m scared.But because I’m not sure what this is.
He’s angry.Or was.Still smoldering in that silent, brooding Wolf way.But now he’s offering me a ride.
This feels like trust.Or forgiveness.Or maybe just distraction.
Either way, I nod.
“You’ll need this.”He tosses me a helmet.
“What about you?”
He smirks, swinging his leg over the bike.“I like to feel the wind on my face when I die.”
I snort and shove the helmet on.“You’re such a drama queen.”
“Have you heard the fairy tale about the lion, the bear, and the drag queen?”
I shake my head.
“If you stick around, maybe I’ll tell you the story someday.”He pats the seat behind him.
He said that the night I met him, and my reaction is still the same.I can’t stay.Long-term never works out.
But I’m here now.
I climb on and lock my arms around his waist.He’s warm and solid, and dammit, I love the feel of his hard body against mine.
He leans back enough for me to hear him murmur, “Hold on, Trouble.”
Then we roar out of the garage like we’re escaping something.Or chasing it.Hard to tell with Wolf.
The engine growls beneath us, raw and guttural, as he twists the throttle, and we rocket into the night.
